


A Breath Of Temperance

by Lee Marchais (WeasleyWench)



Category: Original Work
Genre: D/s, M/M, breath play, sorta hate sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 13:09:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19110331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeasleyWench/pseuds/Lee%20Marchais
Summary: Sometimes, all it takes is one breath to surrender.





	A Breath Of Temperance

****

**A Breath of Temperance**

By: Lee Marchais

***

Sometimes I want to choke Daniel and feel his breath rush out of his mouth, dissipating, unsure if I’ll leave him with enough time to suck in another lungful before I tighten my fingers around his throat again. _Daniel. Daniel._ His skin stretches as my thumbnail bites into his neck like a scythe blade. I'll take in the thump of his pulse as it throbs against my hand and thumb as though the sex is happening right there beneath my fingers and not between his legs, my legs, and his arse, full of my cock driving into him. The torture of breathlessness is more erotic to him than me pounding into him. I push closer. The sheets bunch around my knees, burning as they scrape along the cotton, and there’s the pulling from Daniel around me as lube leaks from his arse and the wet slippery sound of my cock as he tightens - _fuck, just like that_ \- around my shaft. The moan breaking free from him is strangled as I tighten my hold on his neck. His eyes widen a fraction, but he pushes towards me. Every muscle in his chest and stomach tighten as his arse draws me deeper.

I grit my teeth to keep from growling his name - _Daniel_. That would give him too much power, power I need and won’t relinquish. Not to him. Not to anybody. His dark-brown hair looks like twigs scattered on the pillow, his eyes like a sky with no clouds. Daniel’s slender body arches, his diaphragm contracting as he gasps and shudders. All definition in his torso seems to have disappeared. He seems so small compared to me. 

His pale, semen-slick thighs fall further apart as wet, strained sound escapes his lips. I can’t tear my hand away from his throat. He’s reduced me to clinging to him like second skin, aching to fuck him. And as I watch his trembling lips, I know I need them, that he needs mine. I release his neck and lean forward, pressing against his lips. First his teeth, then his tongue hit my mouth angrily, before saliva gathers between us and another wet sound fills the room. He moans again, and I can’t contain my own as he shoves his hips down and around my cock, sensation explodes.

“Har— Harder,” Daniel pants and tips his head back, exposing his neck even more. His body glistens. There’s nothing more arousing than looking at him wanton and begging. It’s perfect. 

His teeth sink into my bottom lip, holding it captive like a sweet. At first I think it’s blood that coats my tongue, but it’s just the bitterness of my own come but it’s just the bitterness of my own come still lingering in his mouth. The way he manages to tip me closer to orgasm without effort is unequalled. I should have better control of myself. I growl; then force my mouth against his, feeling his hold release and finally give what he’s been asking for: my mouth on his, my tongue against his. The glide of saliva and semen. But it’s not his mouth I want. 

“Fuck!” Pulling away, I move to his neck. It’s my obsession. Covered with bite marks and bruises, I sink my teeth in to add to the collection. His body undulates against me, his cock pressing into my abdomen and sliding across it. My stomach twists as though his hand is inside me.

I want to hate him. But, hating such beauty is impossible.

Salt gathers on my tongue as I draw a wet line up his neck to his ear. The scent of his cologne fills my nostrils and lingers. His breath is hot and heavy as it moves over my shoulder, my neck, as he returns the favour. 

He’s moaning louder now, every sound running down my spine, and driving my hips forward. Harder, harder, faster, wet, sticky flesh slapping together. He pulls me to him, close as our bodies can get, and I feel the dampness between us, musk, shit, and come clinging to the air with every inhale. 

His hands tighten around my back, nails digging in until it stings. He tries again when he can’t get a grip. Then his hands move and clutch at the back of my thighs, drawing me close. My thrusts become deeper and shorter, punctuated by forcing his head to turn so I can tell him exactly what he needs to hear: “I’m going to choke you ’til you come.”

I feel the groan of approval.

I’ll never know how Daniel can still make me feel like this, worn, raw, and slack from use, how he can make me feel like his arse is his fist, eager and strong. He uses the knowledge of how much I want him like he has a remote that operates me, even as he’s moaning, my name hitching over his lips, the last of his control gone. His surrender is always sweet like whisky and sugar. I accept it and shift, feeling my tender knees grate against the mattress.

Daniel’s mouth is open like he wants to blow me. I wish I had two cocks. One would part his reddened, swollen lips and the other would keep him gasping as the walls of his arse envelop the sensitive head of my prick. The force of his fingers against my thighs makes me buck hard. His body tries to force me away. Then pull me back in until I feel the ragged insides of his body expel me, toss me from the pleasure-induced haze like when I've drunk too much wine or have been hit on the head.

I swallow hard and grunt as finally pushes me free. I protest, but I can only move so far. He holds me like letting go would tilt the world off its axis. That he even thinks I would let him push me out makes fire rip through my chest, and not even his eyes, half-lidded and clouded with desire, makes up for it. I shift, expecting him to let go, but he holds. His nails scrape and as sweat rolls into the open flesh, I hiss. 

Damn him. _Damn him!_

I growl, rising to look down at his lithe torso. His chest and face are red. He writhes, returning his hands to my skin, first my hips, driving his thumbs into the groove of bone and flesh. My teeth hurt as I keep myself from gripping him just as tight between the juncture of pelvis and thigh. I know what I want, and he lifts his arse from the bed, spreading his legs again. The challenge in his eyes sends a shiver down my spine, and he sucks away my control like he does with my come when his mouth has just been around me, tongue swirling, and throat welcoming the rush of semen I won’t deny him.

“Do it, Pete!”

God, if only he knew how he looked right now. His pale skin riddled with crescents from my teeth. His arse is on display, thighs wide and inviting. I drag my fingers up the inside of his thighs, pressing his legs further apart. His arse tenses and opens, revealing the red furl of abused muscle between his cheeks. He has no shame in offering himself, and for the first time he reaches for his cock, stroking.

“Bastard.” Knowing I like his orgasm, he’s willing to steal the pleasure of me giving it to him. There’s not a power that will make me sacrifice the triumph of being responsible for his come spreading across his belly, chest and hand. It’s mine, and I line myself up to his opening, watching for his reaction. I rub the head of my cock over his wrinkle of red and pink, hearing exactly what I want: a panting moan so thick and hot I can almost inhale it into my lungs like the smoke of a cigarette. Every easy breath he takes is mine.

As I angle and press inside him, I feel Daniel’s tight arse squeeze my cock. I let him hear my appreciation for the way him and his body makes me feel. Daniel lifts and gyrates his hips, and sinks onto my cock again.

“Yes,” I groan. “Do that again.” 

He accommodates me until I can no longer go any further. I press forward, wishing I could stay inside him forever. I lower my weight against him, feeling the burn in my legs as his wrap around me, urging me to thrust, to move, to stop marking time and just fuck him the way he wants.

“Fuck me like you mean it,” he says as I pull back slightly, feel his calves as they push against my arse, and thrust deeply again. His head rolls back, exposing his neck to me, and my greedy, filthy mind controls my hand, sending it to wrap around the length of vulnerable tendons and skin. His next plea dies as I curl my fingers and flatten my palm against his throat, feeling the strain, seeing the strain, and _fuck_ , watching as his eyes roll back. The need burns in my mouth, and the sting of sweat moves across the cuts he left behind.

He shudders around my cock in violent vibrations until his face becomes red. I can see fear in his eyes. 

Will he let go? I can see him thinking. Daniel gurgles, his throat bulging into my palm. I push in again, thumb curling around the groove of his throat. It rises and falls like the pitched rhythms of music, and there’s nothing I want more than to feel him pass out and to watch come roll from the plumed head that rests against his stomach. Fear hides beneath flushed cheeks and eyes like slivers of ice. Cold blue and deep enough to follow into oblivion. The first time I sank into them, they cut me, bleeding a wound that never heals. Since then I’ve been addicted to the flavour of his pouting mouth against mine and his abortive attempts to swallow with my hand around his throat.

He’s panted like this for other men; I’ve seen it. One thing he’s never done is let anyone else touch him this way. This is mine. Every black mark that fades to soft browns, then yellows, is mine. He squirms for more. Without ever touching me, he leaves behind his own mark on me, one that only I notice. I think I should let him go as the ink of his touch spreads within me; I’m paper, soaking up the moans. Often, I catch him just staring at me, ready to say something. It’s the pull of his lips as he cocks his head to the side; but I know he’ll never say anything. It will leave him vulnerable. Words aren’t the same as my hand being so tight around his throat that he loses the ability to breathe.

I feel him moan. Peter. My name, sweet and sticky, breaks free from his lips and clings to me. If I let go now, let him bathe me with his tongue until I pull his hips until he’s positioned above me, ready to sink onto my cock, he’ll take advantage. It’s better if he’s quiet and pliant. I’m barely holding onto control, fighting every thrust and withdrawal, and the tightening of my fingers around his slender throat. I can see he wants something more - emotional, something I’m not yet willing to give. His body, graceful and tight, is enough to make me never want to give him up again. It’s not fair to watch him give of himself to another man, not when I know just how he’ll arch the moment I move my hand to the inside of his thigh and envelop his balls in my grasp. It’s not fair to watch him struggle against me, when this is what he’s asked me for.

The constant collision of skin, wet and irritated by friction, is all I need. The way his muscles flex underneath my touch draws my attention from one part of him to the next. His hand leads the rein, shows me all of the brilliance I miss when I focus on watching the quick spurts of come that aren’t far behind. I slow. I become gentle. His head tilts to the side beneath my fingers; the undulating line of tendons matching his erratic heartbeat rise and kiss my palm, much like the tantalising slick grip that holds me in place between his thighs. I don’t know how he has any energy left. His cock no longer strains against the ridges of his stomach, and yet his legs draw back, giving me much more of him, as though a system of pulleys, levers, and ropes are in place to help him. But there is nothing. Just us. The bed. Even it creaks as I drive into him, still slow, still feeling something in me twist on command. His command. 

Staring at him, I am taunted by what will happen the moment I stop driving forward. He’s close. I can feel the little tremors that signal the landslide of his orgasm.

He tries to draw air, swallow salvation, but he’s under my power. He can’t have it unless I give it, and I’m not in a giving mood today. That’s why I can allow myself to squeeze him again, watch his eyelids drop, and lose myself in the trance of feeling his legs around mine, tight, like a noose.

Real fear lies inside his gaze. My cock, as deep as it will go inside him, is already begging for release. I wonder if I should turn him over and grind into his slick arse as fast as I can. Tug his loose hair until he can cry out like I know he wants to. But I can’t choke him that way. At least not choke him and get the satisfaction I feel when his eyes roll back and I have to let go of his neck to hold his legs up as I finish myself. Then it’s just springs, me panting and fucking him until he’ll be raw.

If he wakes up, it’ll be when I come.

Just in time to feel as I shoot into him and groan out his name. His body rocks back and forth as if we were floating, suspended in water. His eyes flutter; he takes a deep breath. 

Legs like jelly from strain, I watch him reach for his cock, wrapping his fingers tightly around it as the colour of his face changes and the purple head disappears as he arches and writhes against me. My rhythm falters as pleasure spikes at the sensation of his body rippling, tightening, and jerking. I gasp, unable to hold it. He is my weakness, a wound that never heals, and every curve of his lips, tremble that moves through his torso and legs reminds me that I’m his weakness, too. 

The pressure inside me builds with each thrust. The vibration in his throat increases, his hand speeding up, and the jerks on his cock become erratic. His mouth falls open, and his brow furrows, one hand holding onto my arm so tightly, when I move, my skin burns from where his palm rests.

White shoots from his cock and lands across his belly, his hand, his body twitching like sex has become an electric shock. 

The picture he paints is lewd, and my hand tightens reflexively, like his arse around my cock, and I can’t take it any more. My thrusts become shallow and harder as pulses of warm, delicious sensation shoot from my toes to the top of my head, the overwhelming feeling of his pleasure in debauchery too much. Shudders wrack my body, the dizzying sensation of being so high I can’t go any further making me stop, release my hold around his neck and ride out the waves of what being with him is. I jerk into him once more, emptying what feels like my soul, along with my come. 

He gasps as I rock my hips.

Panting and feeling as though the world just fell out from under me, I tremble, withdrawing my cock I l lay down next to him, cradle his flushed cheek in my palm, drawing my thumb across the damp rise of bone until he opens his eyes and looks at me.

I have a feeling that one day, this won’t be enough; that we’ll walk further than we intend together, and faint hints of something that we both crave will become needs we both scramble to fulfil. I want him to remember me, in all of the ways I remember him; all the ways the others have forgotten. 

The marks will remain for a few days; he never leaves the house when they’re there, and he always shows them off. Just for me. And I know that when I’m done, the ache in my chest, and the passing need for his arse, will fade into the background for another few hours. Then he’ll sit and cradle me like a precious gift, and I’ll find that I can’t move. But I’ll keep moving now, while the power of his arms aren’t restraining me. Something has passed between us, something that defines the lines of a regular fling and lover. But even that is fading, and I can’t deny I feel more than physical pleasure with him. He gives me more than that. The sex is just a perk. He likes the way we do things, and I like doing them. 

Daniel blinks and leans forward, pressing his lips against mine – soft, unlike our sex, or anything else about us. Looking at him, feeling him so close still, I know somehow that he’s been waiting for this. He’s been waiting for me to respond the right way, give him the right motivation. Maybe. Even if it’s not, I like it. 

Sticky and reeling, I sit up and look at him, hand still stroking his cock lazily, his eyes closed. He’s somewhere else, far away from us. Sometimes we don’t have conversations beyond the bed, or wherever we’ve decided to shag.

I get up and stretch the kinks from my arms and head to the bathroom to clean up. I’ve never understood how he can lie there, bruises already welling on his throat and smile, still stroking his softening cock. It’s confusing. I’ve never seen anyone behave like this over rough sex that was arranged. 

Daniel’s alert, when I emerge from the bathroom and a hot shower. He’s stopped stroking himself, but he looks high, the smile on his face lazy. I see my reflection in the floor-length mirror by the bathroom: scratches and indentations from his fingernails line my torso. 

“Fancy stopping for the night?” I ask. My chest tightens. He looks at me, confusion so clear in his expression that I feel like a giant has taken my heart and squeezed it. 

“Yeah,” Daniel says, “I can do that.” 

I nod and pull out a fresh towel for him. He doesn’t say much. I don’t think he will. He never does, and this is new for both of us. In the beginning, it had just been rough sex, but then he went further, taking me with him. 

We need each other. Knowing why isn’t as important as knowing him, and that’s what I want. Him agreeing to stop for the night is one step... I never wanted to hurt him, but he’s good at coercing me into doing what he wants. I should be ashamed, but I’m not. In fact, I prefer it. We wouldn’t have got this far without his ability to make me do what he wants, how he wants. I know he doesn’t always need it. 

The bed dips and I shift as he slides into bed. I start to reach for him, then stop, unsure if that’s what he wants. I want to ask, but the words stick in my throat like lead. His impassive and icy gaze lands on me and stays for a while before he moves and settles against my side. Then he moves his arm around my waist and rests his head on my chest. He’s warm, alive.

In the morning, we can talk. I don’t want to break this spell around us with words and complications. Neither of us are ready for conversations about the future. This moment makes me believe there is one. I smile and close my eyes. For now, it’s enough.


End file.
